Claudia and Troy Parker
by mcpon14
Summary: This is a story about a conversation that Claudia (narrator) had with Troy Parker. One shot. This is a social commentary story.


Mallory came over to my house before the start of this Monday meeting of the Babysitters Club. During lunch time, she had seen me arguing with Troy Parker in the school library. She had fled to the library to find solace and consolation in the reading of one of her favorite passages from the library's copy of Marquerite Henry's Misty of Chincoteague. When she spotted me, I didn't want to talk about my tiff with Troy when she inquired and I didn't ask about why she had been upset, so we agreed to talk about it at my house. We made a deal. She would drop by early before the start of the meeting and I would spill out a spiel about my problem for catharsis' sake and she would do the same for hers for the same purpose. We would take turns. We promised each other to sit through each other's rant no matter how much we feel like leaving at any time during it. We would be each other's human fixture of a repository for listening. So, at the predetermined time, she showed up in my room with much-appreciated punctuality. She came in and flashed a smile.

"Do you still want to talk about it," she asked.

I nodded with a little pout.

"Your awesome," she said giving me a reassuring smile.

"It is you're, as in you are," I corrected. "Its a contraction."

"And it is "it's"," she gently retorted. "Your "its" was a contraction, too, lol."

"What does lol mean?" I asked, amused.

"It stands for laughing-out-loud," she reminded.

"Then how come you didn't just, um, laugh out loud?" I asked with curiosity. "And what was so funny?"

"We are in the Internet age, and that we are acting so like Janine," she chuckled. "So what was the argument about with Troy?"

"I caught him in the library sleeping, using a bulging duffel bag as a pillow," I began. "He asked me why I look down at him, since he was homeless. He said that it didn't hurt anybody if he slept there. I told him that the school doesn't want anybody to sleep in the library. He asked why when nobody was getting hurt by it. I just told him that he was breaking the rules and that rules are rules. He said that the school, just like society, looks down on the homeless. He then accused me that the school doesn't specifically have a rule specifying that homeless people cannot sleep in the library. I asked him if he would like to come with me to the librarian or to the principle and ask either of them if it is okay for him to sleep there. He said that he wasn't breaking any explicit rule and that I'm just using him sleeping there to pick on him because I am prejudiced against homeless people. He said that I was a bigot against homeless people. Of which I am not!"

I exclaimed the last sentence.

"I am not a bigot," I stated vehemently.

"Well, what do you think a bigot is?" she reasoned.

That question made me suspect that she wasn't as on my side as I had hoped. I wanted to eye her but didn't, keeping the desire to do so to myself.

"Well, it is someone that is prejudiced. Like racists, homophobes, sexists." I answered.

"It is probably just any form of prejudice." she explained, looking sheepish.

I thought about what she said and felt that I was being accused outright but in a subtle way by her of being prejudiced. Maybe even of being a full-fledged bigot. I mulled my next move in my head. How should I approach this, I thought. How should I get the answer out of her concerning whether she thought that I was a bigot or not. I cycled through the options. Should I try to tease it out of her? I discarded that. I didn't know how to do that. How about confronting her upfront? I dismissed that. Even though, I know how to do it, it just felt too strong-armed of a tactic to use. I just didn't feel comfortable with it. Should I probe her periodically over time? I bit my lower lip as I considered that possible route to take. I'm not a natural at that so I would have to plan it, and I would probably botch it, so I eliminated that option. I then decided to shelve this dilemma to think about it later, and changed the subject.

"So, why were you upset today in the library?" I asked, to give her her turn in the deal that we made about letting each other have her time to verbally exorcise her concern or concerns out into the world into a receptacle of a waiting pair of ears, hopefully.

"Well, um, while you were, as it turned out, in the library. I bumped into Kristy in the hall while I was going to the bathroom. We got to chatting and somehow it came up about why Jessi and I have to sit on the floor during meeting times. I just blurted it out, even though Jessi and I were working on how we were going to bring it up. It just kind of slipped out. And, um, Kristy said that it was you and that it was what you wanted. She said that since we were Junior Officers and in the sixth grade that it was only appropriate since you guys are all in the eighth grade."

Mallory looked uncomfortable and unsure of herself after saying all of that. She sort of rush the telling of it. She looked sheepishly at the floor.

So I got my answer, I thought. Mallory DOES think that I'm prejudiced. And here I am, a stickler for the anti-prejudice stance, ever since Jessi told us, the club members, about her and her families experiences when they first arrived in Stoneybrook along with that my treatment by the Lowells, a racist family.

During dinner, I sat there looking at my broiled chicken. I know that you can move vegetables around on your plate if you don't have an appetite for what is on it but can you do that with a piece of chicken, l wondered. I didn't feel like eating and didn't know why. I didn't feel like scarfing down my dinner like I usually do in these situations.

Then I heard it: Cockadoodledoo! It sounded out of place. Cockadoodledoo! It piped up again. What is that, I wondered.

Then a different sound perked up: Cluck. I looked around, bewildered. Did the Kishis get a chicken coop that I wasn't told about? Cluck. I heard it again.

Then I looked down at my plate. And a voice emanated from the piece of broiled chicken: "What did I do to you, Claudia?"

"What?" I asked, startled.

"Why is it okay to murder us, chop us up, cook us, and eat us, without a second thought?"

I shrugged, a little confused.

"Why is it okay, Claudia?"

I didn't know what to do, but I felt that the universe was trying to teach me something, so I decided to appraise Janine for the better. I usually scoffed at Janine for her choice of a lifestyle that basically revolves around studying, devoid of much fun as far as I can see. And her clothes is a clear reflection of that. She chooses to wear virtually the same outfit each day and they are of the buttoned-up variety but hold the variety, I quipped. Everytime I see her at the dinner table, her outfit and entire look, complete with the glasses, puts me off. Now, I feel that I have been unfair to my sister. I raised my esteem of her choice of clothes in my mind, so much so that I grew, within a few seconds time, to see them as likable. I have my own fashion of spontaneous, wild creations, so I should appreciate Janine for HER brand of style because in my current frame of mind she certainly has style. I smiled at myself at the thought. My new, relatively sudden, outlook on Janine made her look refreshing to me.

I turned to her. "I like your look, Janine," I said with a friendly grin.

She gave me a wry and wary look and paused in that facial expression for a while before responding. "Your outfits are always - how shall I say this - interesting, Claudia," she said with a tsk.


End file.
